FAT BRAIN GUY REDUX

                                          FAT-BRAIN GUY REDUX

         Saturdays in this prison are dull. It’s the one day 90% of the compound is off, but it is also the day with the least available to do. I’ve managed to divide my Saturday into three parts: From the time I wake to lunch I read, from lunch to the 4 pm count I write and listen to music, and the evening is spent at the REC playing Scrabble.



         I love board games, always have and always will, but unfortunately the only one that is easily accessible here is Scrabble. Every now and then a Risk game or an Othello game pop up, but they are quickly taken by inmates and hoarded like gold. I’m lucky and had the connections needed to procure an Othello board and a Scrabble board. Since these are two of my favorites it makes me very happy. My normal Scrabble partner is a great guy in his mid 40’s who used to be my cellmate. (He has since moved to the Residential Drug Abuse Program so we only see each other a couple times a week now).



         A few weeks ago we were sitting outside playing when I noticed a commotion on the softball field. From where we sat, at a picnic table on a high hill that overlooks the activity fields, we could see that a shirtless, barefoot man had wandered into the outfield while a game was in progress. The recreation department sets up a competitive league each summer so games are taken very seriously. No one interferes…EVER…so this was a very odd sight. Looking closer I could see that not only was this half naked man walking through the game, but he was also playing a guitar and singing.



         The players all yelled at him but he was just jamming in his own little world. After a couple of minutes he’d crossed the field and the game resumed. But I kept watching him. He looked like Ray Charles playing a guitar, his head bobbing and weaving, sunglasses covering his eyes. The only difference was this guy was white and had no rhythm. And then I recognized him – Fat-Brain Guy!



         The announcement came to return all of our equipment and I watched as fat-brain guy came up the hill towards us. My friend laughed and pointed out that not only was fat-brain guy playing a bass not a guitar he was playing it with a broken string and with no pick. But fat-brain guy didn’t seem to care. The entire walk to the equipment room he jammed out and sang at the top of his lungs. Unfortunately his voice was about as tuneful as a goose being slowly strangled. I guess you just can’t have it all!!



         About two weeks later, I came outside to walk the track with my friends. We were coming around the farthest corner and saw fat-brain guy, again without most of his clothing, running up and down the hill. His shorts were rolled up so high that he seriously looked like he was wearing Pampers. My friends yelled at him to put some clothes on and he just smiled and waved.